The Yellow Wallpaper
by carolinagirl2
Summary: Feminist writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman's short story from the protagonist's husband's point of view. Asssignment for my AP Literature class.


**The Yellow Wallpaper**

**Character Diary- John**

**Entry One:**

I've rented a house- an old colonial mansion- for my wife and me to stay at for the duration of the summer. It's lucky of us to rent it for such a bargain, for it's still close enough to me to commute back and forth to work and to tend to my cases while our home is undergoing repairs.

The house is surrounded by hedges and a large garden and isn't far from the village. My wife suggested there was a strange feeling about it, as if it was haunted, but I merely laughed. The fancies that strike her sometimes!

I'm hoping that it will be good for her as well. All she really needs is a nice rest, as I've proscribed, to cure that nervous depression of hers. This house should be just the place as it's in the country and she should like working in the garden. There won't be any distractions or disturbances to upset her out here.

We've moved in to a nice, spacious room upstairs. It has windows all around (though they have bars) and a large bed. My wife wanted a room downstairs that opened onto a patio—she said she liked the roses and the chintz hangings. Such frivolous things she does concern herself with! I explained to her that the small room had only one window, and would do her no good if she got no fresh air and light.

The only thing wrong with the room I chose is the garish wallpaper. It's a nasty yellow color and has quite an unattractive pattern, but I don't think it will be much of an issue. I shall become used to it after a while, certainly.

**Entry Two:**

There has been a lot of work for me to do lately, even with some more serious cases. It's kept me busy these past two weeks, and I've been away from the house often. Even on some nights I'm called away to some case or another.

I fear that my wife refuses to get better. She still worries about the wallpaper in the bedroom, and has asked me to repaper it several times. Women are always worried about how pretty their homes are! At first I figured that I would placate her about something as trivial as the wallpaper, but decided against it. After all, she shouldn't let it get the better of her as it's unhealthy for a woman in her delicate condition to worry about things the way she does. And since we are only here for the summer, I see no reason why I should have to renovate for such a short duration of time.

**Entry Three:**

I decided it wouldn't hurt to have some family down to the house for the Fourth of July. I invited my wife's mother and some others for the week. However, that much stimulation seems to have tired out my wife even more than usual, even though my sister Jane took care of all the cooking and housekeeping.

I told my wife that if she didn't pick up faster, then I'm afraid I'll have to send her to Weir Mitchell this coming fall, to make sure she gets the proper rest cure. Since I'm so often away from the house working, I cannot supervise her as closely as she needs to make sure she isn't straining herself.

I do hope she improves soon; I do worry about her so. She hasn't been the same since the baby came and he makes her so nervous, although she does care for him dearly.

**Entry Four:**

I've begun proscribing cod liver oil and various tonics to help my wife get her strength back.

However, she asked me if she could take a visit to her Cousins Henry and Julia. I told her that I couldn't possibly allow her to go, because she is still so unwell. Travel would only make her worse, and a brand new setting would be more than she could stand. After all, she got so tired and stressed after the Fourth.

When I explained all of this to her, she broke down in hysterical crying.

I felt very sorry about causing her so much grief and unrest, and so I took her in my arms and carried her upstairs to our bedroom. I sat her down on the bed and read to her from one of her favorite books until she was soothed and in control of her emotions once again.

I soothed her by telling her she was my darling and that she was all that I had, which is the truth. I'm very fond of her and do not like to see her so indisposed. I tried explaining that only she could cure herself of her hysterics, and that she must, for my sake. She nodded and said she understood, and that she would try her best.

**Entry Five:**

She woke me one night, in the very darkest hours of early morning. I felt a cool emptiness on her side of the bed in my semi consciousness, and woke up to find that she had risen and was studying the wallpaper in the bluish moonlight.

"What is it little girl?" I asked of her, wondering what may have disturbed her. "Don't go walking about like that—you'll get cold," I warned her.

And then she told me that she wasn't getting better here because of this room, and the sickly wallpaper. Such preposterous things that women choose to fixate on!

"Why darling! Our lease will be up in three weeks, and I can't see how to leave before."

I went on to explain that there was not where for us to go, and really, she _was _getting a bit better, even if she didn't notice it just yet.

"I don't weigh a bit more," she protested with a pout, "nor as much; and my appetite may be better in the evening when you are here, but it is worse in the morning when you are away!"

It appeared she refused to mark an improvement in herself.

"Bless her little heart!" I said, drawing her back to bed with a hug. "She shall be as sick as she pleases! But now let's improve the shining hours by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!"

She tried one last time to convince me, but I was solid in my refusal. I told her that I knew she really was better, but she merely muttered that she was only better in body.

"My darling," I pleaded, "I beg of you, for my sake and for our child's sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?"

We said no more on it, and soon we were back asleep soundly as before.

**Entry Six:**

The change that has come over her! Suddenly her color has returned, and she is bright and very much happier. She still doesn't sleep well at night, but she must during the day.

I laughed at something she said, and told her that I was glad that she had begun to flourish, in spite of her wallpaper. She gave a newly carefree laugh, which pleased me.

However, I still worry about her somewhat. I was talking to Jennie, who said she sleeps nearly all day, but that she spends some time still looking at that wallpaper. And, unless it's only my imagination, there are a few bare patches in places there weren't before.

I asked her some questions that I would ask patients of mine, but she was very good about answering them, and I dismissed it as me being overly worrisome.

**Entry Seven:**

I had to stay a night in town for work, so I told Jennie to keep a close eye on her. She promised me she would, and since she's a dependable woman, I worried no more about it.

But when I arrived back at the house the next day, I knew at once something was terribly wrong.

Jennie met me in the drive; she said that my wife had been up in her room all day, and when Jennie tried to open the door to bring her downstairs for dinner, it was locked and she would not reply.

I strode up the stairs two at a time, and rapped on the door smartly. At first there was no answer, so I tried again, and again, and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear a muffling _sshhhhrrr_, repeated at various intervals, and then nothing.

I pounded heavily on the door, calling for her to open up.

Finally came the answer in a giddy voice, "It's no use, young man, you can't open it!"

"Jennie! Bring me an axe!" I ordered, and she scampered out to one of the tool sheds on the ground, returning with the tool.

But before I could raise it to strike the door, she called out in a soft voice, "John, dear, the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf."

Stunned momentarily by the absurdity of her statement, I stood stock still, my ear still pressed to the wood.

"Open the door, my darling!" I called to her gently.

"I can't," she answered. "The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!"

Again the absurd statement and she repeated it softly over and over, until I went and searched the plant boxes under her window, by the front door. Momentarily I found the key, and then back upstairs I went.

I slid the key into the lock, turned it, heard the click, and then swung the door open.

"What is the matter?" I cried. "For God's sake, what are you doing?"

And there was my wife, across the room against the far wall on her hands and knees. She was crawling along the wall, her shoulder rubbing along a wide streak that ran the length of the room. What remained of the yellow wallpaper was curled in shreds on the floor.

"I've got out at last," she told me matter-of-factly, "in spite of you and Jane. And I've pulled off most of the paper, so you can't put me back!"

The floor, piled with the shreds of sickly yellow, rushed up to meet me with a crash.


End file.
